


Ceaseless

by orphan_account



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Fisting, Angst, Bottom Qui-Gon, Drama, M/M, Qui-Gon Lives, Qui-Gon does not like the war, Top Obi-Wan, or himself, or the Council, reconcilliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-11 04:05:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19525570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The typical Qui-Gon Lives but He and Obi-Wan Drift Apart cliche vignette, but with anal fisting!





	Ceaseless

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to tohje for looking over the beginning of the story. The rest of it is my fault entirely, and for that I apologize.

If you trust me  
Take my hand  
And trace the  
lines and creases and cracks  
Because my hands  
Could speak to you  
In the language of our old  
Shared pain  
And there you would hear  
Nothing except  
A ceaseless need  
For you  
And you, you  
Hear it in your hands  
Your body  
If you trust me  
To open your body  
Your own lovely and hesitant dark  
Places  
And the light would shudder,  
Where you shuddered,  
And I would trace your lines  
And hear you too. 

\-----

Qui-Gon Jinn has never forgotten a world he has stepped foot on. He always carries some sort of memory of where the Force takes him:

the way a child smiled at him on Alderaan, 

Darlyn Bodas’s wet-earth smell, because it rained there most of the time, 

the villagers of M’Buh, who did not trust Jedi, except for Qui-Gon, after he had shown the chief the scars on his own hands--

_“I am a seeker of the peace. I am a warrior. Just as you are.”_

But now he is forgetting places, and he is forgetting what peace feels like at all. Each planet is hostage to the war; there is a dull, grey monotony to the desperation, the skies, the eyes he passes. He meditates. He looks for the sun.

He looks for Obi-Wan, except Obi-Wan is hardly himself. When Qui-Gon sees him (not often, not long, not enough) his former apprentice wears armor. _The Negotiator_. A formidable opponent, in every sense. Qui-Gon erects shields too. He must. Or else the things he bears witness to would destroy him. 

Or worse, numb him. He still wants to feel. Sometimes he does not recognize his voice, as he barks orders to a sea of gleaming white helmets.

\------

He realizes that children do not smile at him anymore. His scars do not set him apart, the war is a wound that does not heal, and it rains everywhere.

\----

The first time, that is a memory he cannot release. He goes there as often as he can, when he is alone and cannot sleep. 

When Obi-Wan had said “ _yes_ ”. Qui-Gon learned how a word could ignite a conflagration. He knew Obi-Wan would lay back for him, “ _yes_ ”, part his legs and take what Qui-Gon gave him. The Force told him it was sacred; back then, it was. 

Before.

\----

After the war came, Obi-Wan sought him out, on rare occasions when they were in Temple, or out in the field. His kisses were sweet, and needful. They were able to insulate themselves, briefly, from reality. 

Qui-Gon changed. He felt the change, like a distant roar that eventually reveals a wild, famished creature. He was frustrated at the Council. He was not meant to lead armies. When Obi-Wan told him he had accepted a seat on that very Council, Qui-Gon tried to squash the bizarre feeling of betrayal. 

Yet he felt betrayed, and powerless. 

Their lovemaking changed then. Qui-Gon withdrew from the place where their minds entwined, until their connection in the Force was no longer a sanctuary, until they seemed completely separate, despite the intimate way their bodies joined. 

\-----

“ _I miss…”_ Obi-Wan started to say, on a planet that Qui-Gon cannot recall. 

_“What?”_

Obi-Wan shook his head, a wistful half-something fled his eyes, and he spread out on the grass, waiting. 

\----

The fights quickly grew unbearable. 

_“What’s happened to you, Qui-Gon?”_

_“The same thing that’s happened to everyone. The war.”_

_“Is that why you’ve cut yourself off? I cannot feel you—“_

_“And I cannot give you everything,General Kenobi. You are the one who began this—“_

Obi-Wan was the one who ended it. 

\-----

Qui-Gon understands that he drove Obi-Wan away. He aches for him, misses him. As much as he misses his old self, and gentle touches. Quiet days. Missions that do not end, inevitably, in death.

\----

Qui-Gon went over a year without Obi-Wan. He oversaw a number of campaigns, zigzagging across systems, heard only secondhand tellings of General Kenobi and General Skywalker’s heroic deeds. He sensed Obi-Wan in the Force, though muted, a far off light flickering where Qui-Gon could not reach. 

He woke up in a barracks, and his commander reminded him they were on Jaal now. The large tents smelled of stale sweat; Jaal was especially humid, a dingy-colored world, the Living Force sullen and stunned by violence. Qui-Gon sat up and dressed. His body hurt, but the ulcers in his mouth were what really bothered him. He rubbed his jaw. 

“You shouldn’t clench your teeth, sir.” Commander Brooks ventured, in his gravelly voice, a facsimile of Jango Fett’s voice, a million other voices. “Gap broke three teeth that way. And he kriffing _hates_ that name.”

Qui-Gon chuckled, stretching his stiff arms over his head. “I’ll try not to,” he clapped the commander’s shoulder, “But I make no promises.”

Brooks snorted. “There’s word General Grievous might show his ugly tin face around here. The Temple’s sending backup.”

Trepidatious hope flipped in his gut. He carefully crossed his arms over his chest, glancing away from Brooks, out at the pale dawn. He hesitated to ask, but couldn’t help himself. “Did they say who?”

“Who else? Grievous requires serious reinforcements.” Brooks grinned. “That means we’re getting the best, sir.”

Qui-Gon bit at the ulcer inside his cheek. 

——-

The best arrived a few hours later. Anakin strode down the ramp, his dark robe flying in the wind behind him. His eyes immediately landed on Qui-Gon, and the Knight smiled, cutting across the dead grasses to embrace him.

Qui-Gon held tight. “It’s good to see you, Ani.” He murmured. So many friends had been lost. Funerals at the Temple were once a solemn and rare occasion. Now there are too many to attend. He closed his eyes in relief. When he opened them again, Obi-Wan was walking toward them, much slower, with far less enthusiasm. 

Anakin gave him a last squeeze and stepped back. “You too, Master Qui-Gon.” A new, puckered scar trailed from his brow to his cheek; Qui-Gon was reminded that Anakin was only twenty-two. Obi-Wan had still been a Padawan at that age.

But Obi-Wan Kenobi, Master and General and member of the Jedi Council, had shed any remnants of that fresh-faced apprentice from years prior. His auburn hair and beard, (blazing red in the sun), was shot through with grey, at his temples, at the corners of his mouth. He wore no visible scars like Anakin; his eyes were just a little harder when they lifted to meet Qui-Gon’s. 

“Master Jinn,” he greeted, Coruscanti lilt perfectly polite and unaffected. 

They were at war. Casual conversation—personal talk—-was a luxury, like sleeping through the night, or eating three meals in one day. And he could not blurt _“I’m sorry, I think of you all the time. Obi-Wan Obi-Wan please, forgive me_ ” in front of Anakin. 

It was all business from there, yet Qui-Gon burned. He watched Obi-Wan when he could, stealing glances as they developed strategies to defeat Grievous. Every time Obi-Wan spoke, Qui-Gon was reminded of their fights, the shrapnel of words still imbedded in his brain. 

_“Why do you seek to punish me, Qui-Gon? What have I done? Tell me what I’ve done. What would you have me do?”_

Obi-Wan had only wanted to remain close to him. Had the strength of their link in the Force not been a comfort, to them both? He could scarcely look at Obi-Wan’s body without thinking of how sweet it had been to lay with him and kiss him, hold him and rock into his welcoming warmth. Why had the bitterness soaked through all of that, spoiled the rare and precious nights? The war was not Obi-Wan’s fault. The man was giving everything to stop it. 

Obi-Wan had given _him_ everything. 

——

Grievous was difficult to track, a drop of oil slithering through the smallest crevice. Eventually the men needed to succumb to their exhaustion, before dawn broke with its unknowable frustrations. 

Qui-Gon sank onto his bunk in the darkness. He listened to the troops settling themselves, the sharp snaps of unbuckling armor. He exhaled through his nose, arms laying at his sides. The hot, heavy air had made his head hurt all day, but he could sense Anakin and Obi-Wan a few bunks over. 

_Peace_ , he thought to himself. He imagined the Force as a sea of vibrant, verdant grasses. He walked barefoot, his toes sinking into the lush bed. Ahead was the horizon, the sun. He wanted to keep walking, deeper…

“Qui-Gon.”

His eyes flew open. The residue of his trance left him blinking in the shadowy barracks. Slowly, the outline of Obi-Wan materialized, leaning over the cot. The familiar material of a Jedi robe brushed Qui-Gon’s hand; Obi-Wan was still fully dressed. Had he even attempted to sleep? 

Qui-Gon wiped a hand over his face and sat up. He would have reached for him, but it had been too long, and he didn’t know how the gesture would be received. “What’s happened?” He rasped, experience conditioning him to expect chaos, another emergency. 

As his vision adjusted to the dark, Qui-Gon saw that Obi-Wan was looking at him steadily. Slender fingers grasped his wrist, cold and calloused. 

“Walk with me?” Obi-Wan whispered.

\-----

The grass was bleached of life, dull even in the moonlight. Qui-Gon was barefoot, Obi-Wan clad in boots. The two men walked in silence, until the tent was some distance away. 

Then Obi-Wan stopped, turning to Qui-Gon. He was not dull whatsoever, the night’s glow drawn down his cheekbones, and pooling in his eyes. On most worlds and by most definitions, Obi-Wan was a young man. 

And he was beautiful.

Qui-Gon let the lust and shame wash over him, filling those hollow places where the war had turned him into a husk. 

Obi-Wan made the first move, as he had done from the beginning, stroking the side of Qui-Gon’s face. He smiled, and the moonlight fell from his eyes, becoming thin rivers. “I miss…” He murmured, but his voice cracked, and he shook his head. “I must remind myself it happened at all.”

Qui-Gon could not shirk the impulse to place his hands on Obi-Wan’s waist. He felt the other Jedi tense. “I was cruel, Obi-Wan. I was….” His eyes fell to the rain-starved ground, “I know now that I was lost. All of this...the war, the Council…”

“I know,” Obi-Wan covered Qui-Gon’s hands with his own, “I would have helped you. I wanted to help you. But once I accepted the Council’s invitation, it was as if you didn’t trust me anymore. Without trust, it all felt false.” He smiled, though there was no happiness there, “I couldn’t bear that. Not with you, Qui-Gon.”

Qui-Gon folded Obi-Wan into his arms, pressing close. “I always trusted you. Always,” he swore against soft hair. “I miss you so much...Obi-Wan...missing you is...miserable...miserable…”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan agreed softly, and kissed him.

Qui-Gon nearly choked on his gratitude, cradling Obi-Wan’s chin in his palm as he deepened the kiss, other hand roaming over the robe. He caressed lean muscle, relearned the way Obi-Wan’s back dipped in just above his full buttocks. He stroked circles there, forcing himself to keep a slow pace. His cock was already firm, and he felt the rigid length of Obi-Wan rubbing against his thigh. 

“ _Yes_.”

Obi-Wan pulled Qui-Gon’s sleep pants down. His painful erection was freed, aching in the warm breeze. 

He knew how well Obi-Wan could use his mouth. He remembered clandestine meetings, Obi-Wan on his knees, accepting Qui-Gon’s leaking cock with a focused tongue. Oh Force, how would he last…

But then Obi-Wan stepped back, mouth kiss-swollen and tight. “Do you really trust me, Qui-Gon? I still sit on the Council. Perhaps I’ve ordered one of the campaigns you despise. Will you see me any differently once the morning comes?”

Qui-Gon captured Obi-Wan’s face in his wide hands. “I trust you with anything, Obi-Wan. With my life.”

The Negotiator ghosted his lips over Qui-Gon’s. “Can you prove it?”

\----

Qui-Gon was not accustomed to being spread, back pressed to the grass, legs parted with Obi-Wan on his knees between them. Anxiety crawled along his spine, though he was also curious, and very aroused. 

It had been rare for Obi-Wan to penetrate him. Qui-Gon confessed a preference for control early on, and Obi-Wan had been accommodating, enthusiastically embracing that preference when Qui-Gon took him against walls, bent him over tables. 

Obi-Wan slipped a tube from his belt, which Qui-Gon recognized as bacta. His sphincter clenched; he waited for Obi-Wan to pull out his long, thick cock. 

“I trust you,” Qui-Gon said, even as his erection flagged, inexplicably. 

Obi-Wan easily pumped it to weeping fullness again. “I hope so,” his fingers withdrew from Qui-Gon’s cock, and the Master bit his bottom lip to smother a disappointed moan. He closed his eyes, relaxing his muscles. He heard the squelch of the bacta leaving the bottle; a moment later, a slick finger began to ease inside him. 

His hips jerked, and he instinctively tightened around the intrusion.

Obi-Wan locked eyes with him. New lines were carved around his eyes, lines Qui-Gon had not noticed hours earlier. Yes, Obi-Wan was young, but he was a seasoned warrior, _The Negotiator_ , a mature and graceful man. With his long finger pushing into Qui-Gon, he was completely in control. 

And completely comfortable in that role. 

“Ah,” Qui-Gon gasped, feeling more exposed than he’d ever felt in his life. 

“Have you ever taken a fist inside you?” Obi-Wan asked, in the same tone he might ask someone if they had visited the Alderaani Falls. 

Qui-Gon looked into the shining grey eyes. “I haven’t,” he admitted, grunting as a second finger joined the first. If he was being honest, the thought had never occurred to him. Certainly not with Tahl, and not with Obi-Wan. “Is this…” he paused, a little breathless, “is this something you’ve desired?”

He realized he had not asked before, when they were lovers. Time was always short, and it was so easy to be consumed by his own wants. What might Obi-Wan have dreamed of doing with him? 

Obi-Wan twisted the fingers inside Qui-Gon, creating a feeling of fullness that was both vaguely painful and enticing. He pushed back, impaling himself deeper. 

“I desire you,” Obi-Wan said quietly. “All of you. Not just the parts you allow me to see. I have seen the worst of the Universe. I just want _you_ , Qui-Gon. Something good and right. I want to be worthy of your trust.”

Qui-Gon’s heart clenched in his chest. He knew he was lucky to be here at all, alive and the focus of this man’s lust. Love. A finger hit against the hidden spark inside him, and he used the Force to clamp down on the rush of orgasm. He would see this through. He relaxed his muscles, at the same moment he lowered the walls around himself in the Force. The acute pleasure sent his eyes rolling to the back of his head. “Little gods, Obi-Wan...ah….”

Obi-Wan was everywhere. He had missed that presence, all that Light, how it twined around him so naturally. 

“Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan choked, by now four of his fingers plunged deep and pistoning, his other hand splayed across Qui-Gon’s sweaty thigh. “Yes, yes…”

He spread his legs wider, wanting more, marveling at how his body stretched to take the additional girth. He was helpless. Anyone could walk by and see him, prone and penetrated by his old apprentice’s hand. He was shocked by how his cock throbbed at the image. He rolled his hips. 

Obi-Wan’s free hand moved to cup the tight, sensitive balls. He used the distraction to wedge his bacta-slick thumb past the loosened ring of Qui-Gon’s ass.

Qui-Gon’s body instinctively seized up, but soothed when Obi-Wan moved his hand, massaging him intimately, making room for his fingers to, at last, curl into a fist.

And he went further. Further. 

Qui-Gon grasped blindly at the dry grass as Obi-Wan fist-fucked him. His hips felt unhinged, like his body was being taken apart by every twist of Obi-Wan’s wrist. 

He closed his eyes. The things he didn’t want to think of came hurtling towards him: the war, the Council, the cold evolution of his own soul and his mistreatment of the man he loved most. Obi-Wan had asked for trust. Qui-Gon had not thought he was capable of such trust, not anymore.

But he was.

And he was opening, expanding beyond just his body. He felt his heart, unfettered, reaching for the Light, reaching for Obi-Wan. Relief broke through, a climax all its own: he was still himself. He was not lost. 

Qui-Gon tipped his head back, watching the tear-blurred stars above him. 

Then Obi-Wan gradually slipped his hand out and rocked back on his heels. Sweat glistened on his collarbone. 

“Have you done that before?” Qui-Gon managed, body flexing and mourning the abrupt emptiness. 

“No, but it seemed a good opportunity to try,” Obi-Wan said, and grinned. He had a slightly crooked smile, imperfect teeth. Qui-Gon sat up to kiss him.

Obi-Wan shrugged out of his robe and lifted his arms while Qui-Gon unraveled his tunics. When he was naked, Qui-Gon smoothed his hand down both pale shoulders. Their cocks were past the point of endurance; each glancing touch was electric. Qu-Gon could feel it vibrating along his teeth.

“Whatever you want,” he hissed, caressing Obi-Wan’s back.

Obi-Wan straddled Qui-Gon and pressed down on his cock. He dropped his head on Qui-Gon’s chest, tightening around him. “ _Yes_ ”, Obi-Wan uttered, before riding him at an overwhelming pace. 

Qui-Gon spit into his hand and encircled Obi-Wan’s erection between finger and thumb, stroking from head to root. Every time Obi-Wan bottomed out, Qui-Gon’s ass thumped against the hard ground, awaking the sore, needy spot where Obi-Wan had so recently fucked him. 

He fucked into the heat, pulling Obi-Wan closer, smelling the sweat in the curve of his neck, and gasping his release there.

“Qui-Gon,” Obi-Wan moaned, and came too.

\----

Somehow they stumbled back to the barracks before sunrise, wearing their creased clothes, grass stuck to their knees and clinging to Obi-Wan’s robe. 

Qui-Gon looked at the rows of sleeping soldiers. He didn’t know what the day would bring, but he knew he would remember Jaal.


End file.
